


Habits

by mystery_deer



Series: Habits [1]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Married Life, No substance here this is cotton candy writing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, sometimes the ordeal of being known is just lovely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:54:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26965507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystery_deer/pseuds/mystery_deer
Summary: The habits of Raymond Holt and Kevin Cozner
Relationships: Kevin Cozner/Ray Holt
Series: Habits [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2151741
Comments: 4
Kudos: 74





	Habits

Raymond opens a door in parts. Turn the knob. Pause. Push or pull. He enters rooms with purpose, ducking in and out without a second glance. Sometimes he and Kevin hum to each other, conversation without words.  
“Mm?” (A question)  
“Mm.” (He holds up an item)  
“Mm.” (All curiosity gone)  
Sometimes they let the moment pass in silence.

Kevin opens a door in one fluid motion. He peeks his head in to see what’s going on, he spies without meaning to most times. (Though sometimes he does mean to) He’s silent as he vanishes back into the hall. Raymond only realizes he was there after the fact, at the sound of the door closing or the creak of footsteps outside.

Raymond eats apples whole. His grandfather used to have a farm, now one of his uncles has it. He has memories of wandering the fields and picking fruit whenever he grew hungry. He looks like a king whenever he has fruit in his hand and Kevin always has the urge to feed and admire him. He watches his husband sitting on the porch in the summer heat, shirt unbuttoned (unintentionally, the buttons were loose. They needed to be mended.) and juice running down his lip. 

Kevin eats apples in neat slices. The first time he ever ate fruit from the tree was a few months into being married to Raymond when they drove down to his grandfather’s farm. He was still alive then and Kevin was nervous to meet him, the whole family would be there. He’d be meeting many of them for the first time, he’d stick out like a sore thumb. The old man was cranky and walked with a cane. He complained about his leg and his back, he called for Kevin to help him. 

“Come here boy! You, Red, come here!” He’d shout and Kevin would be at his side, sometimes panting with effort. By the time dusk fell Kevin’s hands were aching, his sweater vest in a heap by the door. His arms were lined with mosquito bites and his hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat. “Come here, boy!” The man called again and this time when he was at his side he laughed and clapped his back. “You’re alright Kev.” And for once he didn’t correct the butchering of his name. 

The old man took him into the field and they collected apples, talking about Raymond, laughing under their breath and trying not to let the other know. He felt warm. He cut the fruit into bunny slices for the children. He smiled at Raymond when no one was looking, _It’s fine._ He told him. _I’m ok._

Raymond’s favorite food is peanut butter and jelly sandwiches because they're cost-effective, easy to assemble and their ingredients keep for a long time. When he was young he would eat his sister’s crusts. He made them for Kevin sometimes when he was working late nights, glued to his desk and squinting down at paper. Raymond thinks he looks handsome with his brows furrowed in focus, palm propping up his forehead or chin. Sometimes he receives a kiss for his effort, words of thanks mumbled into his temple. 

Kevin’s favorite food changes daily, or so it seems to his husband.  
“I don’t want to eat lemon garlic parmesan for dinner again.”  
“Why? I thought you liked it?”  
“I do but I can’t eat it three nights in a row.”  
“I don’t understand.” (Kevin smiles, fond)  
“That’s alright.”

Raymond grows interested in things all at once. His head cranes, his eyes widen slightly. He asks questions, absorbs the answers. When they adopted Cheddar he bought several books on dog training and read them all within days. He told Kevin facts about dogs over meals. He played music and turned it off if the dog barked.  
“It upsets him, clearly.” (Staring at the dog)  
“Clearly.” (Staring at his husband)

Kevin grows interested in things slowly. Something catches his eye, he pauses. He observes with his lips pursed into a thin line, arms crossed. He looks things up, he discusses hypotheticals.  
“If we were to adopt a dog-”  
“Do you want a dog?”  
“I’m saying if we _were_ to do so.”

Raymond doesn't like complex sweets. He doesn't like to be overwhelmed. Kevin makes him shaved ice and pours fruit juice over it. He makes him poundcake, he freezes honey into balls and wraps it. Raymond sucks on them and closes his eyes, feeling loved. Kevin is a wizard in the kitchen, a craftsman. When they’d first started dating and Raymond said he hated sweets Kevin had only said, “You haven’t tasted mine.” They go to the store and Kevin grumbles about sugar, devises alternatives, mumbles recipes under his breath. Sometimes when Raymond kisses him in one of those moods he thinks he tastes sweet.

Kevin doesn't like commercial sweets. Tootsie rolls and lollipops packed with gum make him ill, stick uncomfortably in his teeth. As a child he ate fruit leather and snuck dark chocolate chips from the pantry. An ex-boyfriend said that even his sweet tooth was a snob. Raymond says proudly that he is _practically a chef._ He puffs up at parties, holding out a tray of something and saying “My husband made it.” Emphasizing the ‘husband’ or the ‘made’ depending on how he feels.

Raymond sleeps on his back, hands folded on his chest or touching Kevin. A thigh, a leg, an arm, his chest. He appreciates the connection. He wakes up to snoring sometimes. He feels annoyed and fond, he wants to laugh and wake him.  
“I do not snore.”  
“You do.”  
He records the noise and plays it at breakfast. He laughs when his husband rolls his eyes.

Kevin sleeps on his side, limbs tucked close to him unless Raymond moves them during the night. He often wakes up with a leg slung over another leg and a hand pressed to his husband’s heart. He snores in his sleep, not a loud rumble but a continuous stream of exhaling that sometimes gets caught in his throat. He coughs, turns his head. He's indignant whenever it's mentioned.  
“Wear earplugs.”  
“Why?”  
“So you don’t wake up.”  
“I don’t mind.” (Smiling impishly)  
“It must be annoying.”  
“Nothing you do could ever annoy me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Entirely inspired by (paraphrased); "Oh no, it's Raymond. That's how he opens a door." and "It was placed gently in the bin using both hands, that's how you always throw away garbage!"


End file.
